Evelyn
by celebrationday
Summary: Basically a prequel to my other fanfic (I come to fight. Or at least, to listen) :) Part of wattpad's Katkit245's Les Mis 30 Day Challenge. Review for a review!
1. Chapter 1

The stars twinkled on a backdrop of black-velvet sky. The empty, cobblestone road was lined with stone walkways, on which beggars curled into little balls trying to keep warm. A single streetlamp created a yellow glow on the corner.

_Another sleepless night, perfect for wandering, _I thought.

If you listened closely, you could hear muffled crying and moaning. Though I was so used to it by this point I didn't notice.

I hugged myself tighter, trying to keep out the chill that was sinking into my bones. It wasn't really the weather, no. In fact it was early summer and the crickets chirped incessantly.

No, the chill was despair, hopelessness, and apathy.

I knew it was dangerous to be out as a young woman at night. But, frankly, I didn't care. There was a small part, a very small part, that fought the indifference. It was like a little, hot grain of sand. It burned in the back or my mind constantly. I tried my best to keep it warm, but lately, it was cooling.

I walked on the lip of the walkway, my bare feet conforming to the angle of it.. I stumbled, narrowly avoiding tripping over a huddled-up figure. In the process, I somehow ripped my dress further. _Merde_, I thought, _this is the only dress I have and it's being reduced to near nothing. _

I had been wearing it for over a year and life in the slums of Saint Michel had taken its toll. The blue and green plaid had faded and been dirtied to the point where I could barely remember the hue of the colors before. Rips covered the bottom half of the skirt, and the sleeves, which were once to my elbows, had been torn up so that my dress looked sleeveless.

My waist was so tiny, you would have thought I was wearing a corset. But, unfortunately, that was just due to lack of food. My hips didn't flare out, nor did I have what could be excused for breasts appropriate for someone my age, so my figure was nothing to be envious of.

The only thing you could consider decent would be my hair. It was the one physical attribute I could pride myself on.

The dark strands reached a little past my waist, and it curled a little at the ends. I put effort into maintaing that part of me to try and keep the hope that maybe, _maybe_ some bourgeois would see pretty little me, have pity, and eventually fall in love with me. I knew it was ridiculous, but when the only thing that motivates you to keep living is _that _dream, you get really desperate.

_No. I'm not desperate. I can handle myself. I'm doing fine. _I had a knack for contradicting even myself.

Though there was some truth to that. I had a job at a bookstore. I shared a little room with my best friend, Eponine. It could be worse...

My name is Evelyn Delacroix, and it can't be worse.

* * *

Though Eponine had been talking about some student group's plan for a revolution. A revolution for a democracy. _A democracy_. Which would be a _Godsend _for the people like me.

A spark ignited the little grain of sand again. _I need to check out those meetings. That is what I'm going to do. I am going to fight for _justice!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short! This takes place after the first 3 (I think) chapters in ICTF.**

_Chapter 2_

The Cafe Musain was packed to say the least. I would guess about forty young men crammed into the relatively small second story of the corner shop.

It seemed as if it was _alive_. The whole place hummed with an air of excitement that only a brotherhood could produce.

I stood on the landing, somewhat admiring the pace and the coherence at which they worked. A few made posters, others made bullets, but all kept an ear open for the voice that somehow rose above the din.

I soon gave up looking for Eponine just to look at him.

He stood on a table, his head of golden curls almost reaching the ceiling. _What was his name? Enjolras, right._

I ran into, in the most literal sense, him the night before. I stand by my original description of him.

Anyways, his entire self just dripped with charisma. Though when I talked to him, he seemed almost unaware of it. He wasn't cocky or self-centered; at least from what I gathered from one glorious conversation.

_Maybe he'll be the upper-crust bourgeois boy who sweeps you off your feet? _my inner voice leered. I dismissed it. As pathetic as I already was, I wasn't aspiring to be a gold digger.

He finished rousing the crowd and stepped off the table to be slapped on the back by who I assumed to be his friends. _That's... Combeferre and Feuilly, I think_. I had made a few friends the night before.

The overall feeling of nearly frantic determination was infectious, and before long I considered myself a full fledged member of _l'ABC_. However I'm not sure the other boys did yet.

A few of them had taken a liking to me as far as I could tell, though. Courfeyrac was the most friendly, bordering on flirtatious. Combefere was the intellectual of the group, and clearly the voice of reason. Jehan was sweet and shy (I swear, I said hello and he blushed). And Joly was... Joly. The others I had seen, but wasn't on a first name basis yet.

Honestly, I'm just surprised they didn't kick me out for contradicting their dear Enjolras. Or for being a disgusting gamine.

It was funny, I felt more purposeful at the Musain. I felt like I _belonged_, and that was a feeling I hadn't felt in a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So these are turning into uber-casual diary entries. Again, this'll make a lot more sense if you read ICTF so check it out! Also review review review!**

June 4th, 1832

I strode quickly to the Cafe from my apartment, leaving Eponine. If you had walked at a normal pace (you know, as if you weren't going to the one place that thrills you) you would have noticed the heavy afternoon sun, the humid air, and the usual hustle-bustle of Paris.

I swerved off the walkway to avoid running into a heavy-set woman dragging a young child behind her. As I stepped into the cobble, I rolled my ankle. Stepping sideways onto the street to keep my balance, I didn't notice the horses that were a few feet in front of me. I threw my weight to the side so I wouldn't be trampled. I hit the stone with a dull thud, most of the impact going on my right elbow.

Not one for displays of weakness, I hopped up and dusted my skirt off, pretending as if nothing had happened. Nobody noticed. I wasn't surprised. Honestly, who would stop to make sure _I_, the dirty gamine, was alright. My palms stung from scraping them against the street, but nothing major.

I continued my now-very-dangerous journey to the Musain. After a few steps, I noticed a stinging from my elbow. I brought it up to my face with my left hand, craning my neck around to get a good look at the battle wound.

Sure enough, a sizable scrape marred it. Blood, still a lively red, trickled down my forearm and almost to the top of my pinky. "Merde! Jesus Christ, Evelyn! How did you not notice that? People probably think you're some crazy!" I muttered under my breath, probably perpetuating the bystanders's ideas that I was, in fact, crazy.

I wiped my arm on my skirt, kind of just hoping that the blood would clot on its own. It was just a shallow scrape, after all.

I eventually made it to the Musain (such a journey, I know) and scaled the familiar wooden steps with ease.

Before I even made it to the top of the landing, Courf cried out "Evelyn!" and made his way to me. I barely heard his voice over the usual noise in the Cafe. Nevertheless, he came up and hugged me around the waist, spinning me.

"_Courf_," I said, pushing down on his hands, trying to get myself back to solid ground. I had a smile on my face though. In all honesty, though, just being _touched_ sent off warning bells all through my head. Do I think Courf had malintent? No. Absolutely not. Was I conditioned by the slums to shrink anytime someone comes within a few feet of you? _Yes._

That was probably the hardest thing about going to the Musain. The guys were _too_ friendly. I was thankful for it, and sure I would get used to it, but for the time being it was mildly uncomfortable.

Anyways, I proceeded to say hello to Joly and Combeferre and the likes, turning my back to Courf.

"Hello, Joly!"

"_Bonjour_, _mademoiselle_!" Joly replied in his usual cheery fashion. Somebody called my name, so I looked over my to my left, hoping to find the culprit. "EVELYN!" Joly said, with a look of horror on his face. Alarmed, my eyes went wide and I screamed, "What?!"

He pulled my right hand up, twisting it around so that he could see my elbow.

My eyes landed on it about the same time as everyone else's. It was still red in the center, but the blood had dried thick black scabs around the outside. Mildly disgusting.

"Your elbow!" Courf said.

"Yes. Girls have elbows, Courf," trying to laugh it off. He looked at me skeptically. "I fell on the way here. I'm fine. Seriously."

"Joly! Fix it!" Courf said to the in-house doctor over. I rolled my eyes. 'Ferre (who I suspected was the one saying hello in the first place) came over.

'Ferre took my hand from Joly's, inspecting the wound. He pushed his glasses up his nose with his other hand.

"It's just a scrape. We'll get in cleaned up and it wont be a problem." 'Ferre said, bringing reason to the group.

"Thank you." I tore my hand from Joly's and turned to Courf, "See? It's just a scrape."

Joly swallowed. Kid can barely handle a scrape. What is he doing being a doctor? "I'll fix it. Come on," Joly said while nodding, suddenly taking on a professional air.

Joly pulled up a chair for me at a table that was tucked in the corner and ordered me to sit down.

He left to the other side of the room to the bar. I followed him with my eyes until he disappeared in the sea of students. Coincidentally, I saw Enjolras standing at the end of a table in the middle of the room. He was standing with his hands on his hips, yelling about something. His cravat was loose and the first few buttons on his shirt was undone.

"Evelyn?" Joly said. I hadn't realized I was staring.

"What?" I snapped, confused. He gave me a confused look, but put my arm on the table and began dabbing at the scrape with a wet napkin.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Ok so these are getting shorter and shorter... I think I'm going to go back in time a little bit and stray from the original ICTF beginning next time. I'm just running out of days.**

June 4th, 1832

"There," Joly said, tying a dry napkin around my freshly-cleaned elbow. He gave a final smile, then held out his hand to help me up. I took it with well-practiced hesitation.

That was another thing that was new to me about _Les Amis. _The chivalry. Sure, some were more than others (_read: Enjolras_) but they all were to a certain extent. I mean, last night when Enjolras handed me his jacket, it was surreal. I felt like a princess. Which is ridiculous to think that I would ever actually be treated like one in the long term, but it was nice for now.

I parted ways from Joly's temp-med station and wiggled my way through the crowd to Eponine, who was sitting melancholy with Marius.

She saw me first. "Evelyn!" She called, her face lighting up momentarily. At the end of the day, despite the charming _Amis_, 'Ponine would always be my best friend.

I walked up to her and side-ways hugged her, putting my head on her shoulder.

"Any change on the Marius situation?" I asked, gently.

'Ponine shook her head low. I hugged her tighter.

"You need to move on, 'Ponine. He isn't good-"

"STOP!" Eponine screamed and shoved me off. I stepped back from her, stunned. "I don't want to move on! He's the only man I'll ever love!"

"'Ponine..." I said cautiously, my voice almost a whisper.

"No!"

"Eponine!" She slowly looked up at me, and I could see tears pooling at the rims of her eyes. I, personally, would never get so attached to a boy, but this wasn't me we're talking about. This was Eponine. And, considering her past, it wasn't much a surprise.

She spun away and flew down the steps before I could say another word.


	5. Chapter 5

Too proud. _That's _what I am. I should have followed her. If I had known what I could have stopped, I would have chased her all over Paris. I would have run 'till my lungs burned and then some. But I'm stubborn. And stupid.

June 5th, 1832

I made a face of disgust and towards the guns in the cafe. If Eponine wanted to be melodramatic, then she could be.

On my way to the artillery, I bumped into Jehan.

"Pardon me, _mademoiselle_," he said, sheepishly.

"Don't fret. I'm fine." I replied a smile on my face. Jehan reminded me of a puppy. His eyes held child-like wonder of everything he saw.

He looked up and smiled back. There was an ink smudge on his chin. I licked my thumb and brought it to his face, rubbing away the stain. Jehan, not to my surprise, blushed. He was probably the _Ami _I was closest too. Even though I had only been there for two days (details, details). He and I just... bonded on a certain level. It's hard to explain, but if you've ever just met somebody you deeply cared for but wasn't attracted to, you'd see what I mean.

Anyways, he led me back to a table. Which I assumed was his because of the papers and the inkwell. He pulled out one of the chairs for me, then sat at the other end.

"Are these yours?" I asked, pulling one of the papers to me.

"Yes," Jehan said. I tucked a piece of loose hair behind my ear while reading the poetry. My hair refused to stay behind my ear and I kept shoving it back and back again, until I eventually became so frustrated that I took it out of the braid altogether, planning on re-doing it after I finished the poem.

"Allow me," Jehan said while walking over to me. I looked up, confused. "Keep reading," he said with a faint smile. I shrugged and did as he said.

I reached the last stanza when I felt Jehan pulling (in hindsight, he wasn't pulling, he was just trying to braid it, but habits, people!) at my hair. Out of reflex, I cringed and yelled at him. "What are you doing?" Jehan recoiled and his face turned bright red. "Oh! Jehan I'm sorry! It's just reflexes! Jehan? Please?" I apologized. I felt like I had kicked a kitten.

He slowly stepped forward. "Turn back around," he said.

5 other poems later, Jehan had finished braiding my hair. I ran my hair over the side, where it french braided into one down my back.

"Wait here!" Jehan said. He returned a few seconds later, beaming. In his hand, he held a pale pink carnation from a vase somewhere in the cafe. He threaded it into the weave behind me ear. My heart lifted. Though I couldn't understand why at the time, it was because I felt cared for, for once. Despite my torn up dress, my unrefined manners, and the streaks of dirt, I felt beautiful.


	6. Chapter 6

June 4, 1832

"Thank you, Jehan!" I said and embraced him, kissing him on the cheek. I couldn't stop smiling.

Jehan stayed at the table to finish writing. I moved over to the bar to get a drink of water.

I nearly stumbled over Grantaire, who was sitting on the floor with his back to the bar.

"Oi! Watch it!" he said, his voice slurred.

"Sorry," I said apathetically. Honestly Grantaire got on my nerves. All he did was sit there and drink. We were fighting _tomorrow_ and he was just getting in the way.

"Evelyn!" I turned towards the voice. It was Combeferre. He was standing with Enjolras and another man in a vibrant orange waistcoat at the big oak table in the middle of the cafe.

I shoved my way through the crowd towards them. "Anything I can do for you, _monsieurs_?"

"Do you know how to sew?" asked Combeferre, holding up a mass of red fabric.

Before I could answer, Enjolras cut me off. "_Somebody_," he glared at the man in the orange coat, "had an accident."

Normally I would have to stifle a giggle, but Enjolras could be _damn_ intimidating. "Yes, I can. I'm assuming you want me to fix the flag."

"Yes. That would be wonderful," Combeffere said with his trademark warm smile, handing me the fabric and some needle and thread. It was surprisingly heavy.

I shoved some papers and candles from the table, clearing a little area for me to work.

As I spread out the fabric on the table, it seemed to never end. I kept clearing and clearing more space, irritating more and more people, but they soon realized that this was Enjolras's precious flag.

When it was fully unfolded, I realized it was four two foot by four foot swatches. I sighed and threaded the needle.

I bent over at the waist so I could sew close to my face. About halfway through sewing the first two crimson pieces together, I heard a voice in my right ear.

"How's it coming along?"

"Jesus Christ!" I yelped, nearly jumping out of my own skin. I looked to see who the culprit was. It was Enjolras. "What was that?" I yelled at him. The surprise had sent of a fight or flight reaction, and now my heart was racing. He looked a little surprised as well.

"I'm just checking on the flag. It's an important part of the revolution!"

"Did you have to sneak up on me like that?" I asked, not expecting an answer.

"I am sorry, _mademoiselle_." I ignored him and returned to the flag, doubling my efforts now that I knew he was watching me. I was hoping he would leave, but he kept hovering.

"Do you have to stand there?" I said, standing up straight.

Enjolras gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, venturing off somewhere, probably to write a new speech or something.

_Tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day_, I thought. My body tingled with excitement. I was unafraid to the point of being reckless. I guess that was because I thought I had nothing to live for besides the _ABC. _I was poor, lonely, and desperate. I was desperate to live a life _worth_ living. At least I had Eponine, which was probably the main reason I hadn't offed myself by then. But as of late, she had been so _obsessed _with this Marius, that I didn't even see her that much anymore. And when I did see her, it was all about Marius.

I finished the flag later than I expected, so by the time I was done most of the _Ami_'s had gone. I gathered up the fabric in a big wad and carried it over to Enjolras, who I handed it to with a perky smile. I felt kind of guilty for snapping at him earlier, and I didn't need to give him any more reasons to throw me out. But that was as much of an apology as he was getting.


	7. Chapter 7

**REFER TO THE END OF CHAPTER 3 IN ICTF**


	8. Chapter 8

Courf came up from behind me as I was handing Enjolras the flag. He grabbed me by the waist and turned me around to face him. His elfish face was lit up, and his black curls bobbed about. He picked up my left hand in his and held it up to shoulder height.

"Do you know how to dance?" he asked.

"No," I said, pulling my hands down from his. I had learned a few steps in the hell-days and was hesitant to relive them, if I could even remember them in the first place. Courf was undiscouraged.

"C'mon, I'll show you," he pleaded.

"No, Courf." His face fell slightly. He poked out his lower lip and made his eyes wide. "Why do you wanna dance with silly me anyways?" I said, teasing.

"Because anybody who can stand up to Enjolras over there," he gestured grandly and spoke up so that Enjolras could hear him, "I can appreciate." I pushed on his shoulder playfully and smiled. God, I really loved _les Amis_.

"I heard that!" Enjolras shouted from his chair.

I rolled my eyes in his direction and Courf started laughing. I still stared at Enjolras though. There was something about him that I found wildly attractive. Maybe it was the passion? I don't know. I tried to refocus on Courf, but of course my mind took me somewhere else: _If he falls in love with you, you'd be the poor pauper who turns into the Cinderella at the ball! _

Which I knew was ridiculous, but, hey, a girl can dream.


	9. Chapter 9

_Chapter 9_  
_~Woken~_

The ride in the carriage was uncomfortable, at least for Evelyn. She had never been in a carriage, and this one was particularly nice because it was Marius's. She tried not to get blood on anything. Also, the cobblestone streets were uneven, causing Evelyn's shoulder and leg to jostle around. Joly must have seen her face go pale with pain because he asked her what was wrong.

"Nothing," Evelyn replied firmly. She didn't want to be babied. Joly looked at her closer.

"Oh my God! I can see the blood seeping through on your shoulder!" he exclaimed. Joly, who was sitting across from her, moved in between her and Marius, accidentally knocking her shoulder. Evelyn sucked in through her teeth. He felt her forehead. "And a fever too? My God, Evelyn, you are ridiculous. You're not much better off than our friend here," he gestured to Enjolras. Evelyn deemed that ridiculous. Evelyn was conscious, had one less bullet hole, and who lot less of other bumps and bruises. She sighed at Joly's direction and glared as if to say "Really?"

When they arrived at Marius's residence, Evelyn didn't want to get out. Joly practically had to drag her. She stepped out of the carriage on her bad leg and crumpled. Joly caught her before she hit the gravel. He insisted on carrying her inside. _Idiot_, Evelyn told herself.

Joly placed her in a back room by the kitchen. Two clean white cots were in the corner, one on each side. One of them had a view to the gardens. Joly deposited her on that one. He left her without instruction, so she opened _The Republic_. When he returned with Enjolras he commented on it good-naturedly, "I see Enjolras has converted you, huh?"

Evelyn just smiled and didn't look up from the book. Once Joly and Marius had placed Enjolras on the cot, Joly sent for Marius to get his medical supplies.

"All right, let me see," Joly gestured to her shoulder. Evelyn tried to slip her arm out of her sleeve, but her shoulder wouldn't cooperate. So instead her shoulder just hunched up against her neck. "Um.. I'm going to have to see more." Joly sounded embarrassed. Just then Marius came in with his tools. "Ah perfect," Joly pulled out a pair of scissors and began cutting away at the back shoulder portion of her dress.

Marius laughed, "How would Musichetta feel?"

Joly sent a harsh "Shut up" back. Evelyn blushed. This was uncomfortable for everybody.

When Joly unwrapped the bandages he let out a sigh of dismay. Both because she was painfully thin and the bullet wound was showing signs of infection.

Joly laid Evelyn on her stomach and situated his chair so that her shoulder was in front of his knees. "Can you move it all all?" Evelyn shook her head no. She could hear medical instruments clacking together. "Ok, so what I'm going to do it work on the back side first, because that's the biggest wound. Unfortunately, you're showing signs of infection, which means I will have to give it a good cleaning before I stitch it. On a good note, I do have local anesthetic, so this shouldn't hurt too much."

Evelyn prepared herself. She felt Joly rub something into the wound, which she assumed was the anesthetic. Soon, that area was numb.

Joly worked that would for about forty-five minutes, cleaning and stitching. He moved to the front side and did a smaller amount of work there.

Next, he asked Evelyn about the "cut" on her leg. Joly half expected her leg not to even be there after she had not even said anything about her shoulder. The rip in her skirt left a hole big enough for Joly to see what was going on, no need to further embarrass the girl. The bullet just grazed her, but it left a six inch long gash on the side of her thigh, about halfway in between her hip and her knee. Also infected. _Enjolras's showed little infection, had she not even thought about herself? _Joly wondered.

Joly had evelyn lie on her side so that the gash faced the ceiling. Joly got to work.

...

By the end of her doctor's visit, Evelyn was exhausted. She was used to the sleepless nights and lack of food, but coupled with her injuries, she felt rather faint. Joly handed her a simple cotton dress to change into, probably one of the maid's. Evelyn didn't mind. Joly did it out of practicality. Anyways, Evelyn was most likely going to get blood on it at some point in the next 24 hours. He also bought in a bowl of soup. _Fresh soup_. Evelyn couldn't remember the last time she'd had some. She was careful not to eat it too fast and not to drop any of it on _The Republic_, which she was reading again.

Joly kept her company, as he was working on Enjolras a few feet away. Evelyn couldn't help but feel a little proud when he complimented her on her mostly successful endeavor. Both of their fevers had broken as well, so things were definitely looking up.

Evelyn put her head on the clean pillow and fell asleep when it was still light outside.

...

Joly was genuinely frightened when he saw Evelyn's shoulder injury. It grated through the bone and the exit wound was monstrous. The thing had nearly gone septic, too.

She was like Enjolras: they both hated being cared for by others, they both were obsessed with _The Republic,_ and glares and eyebrows knitted made up 90% of their facial expressions. Joly confirmed it with Marius. They would totally support Enjolras if he changed his celibate ways.

Joly worked on Enjolras lasted until nightfall. The bicep and shoulder wounds were both stitched textbook-perfectly. The hip one was the most dramatic injury between the two. Joly had to re-open the stitches to see if the bullet had caused any internal damage; he fixed what minimal damage there was.

It was amazing how Evelyn fixed Enjolras, and Joly respected her for it. Especially with how little resources and experience she had. Joly's respect for Evelyn shot higher. Not just as a person, but as a doctor. She deserved to be in medical school more than half the people who were classmates with him.

...

Enjolras woke to summer light streaming through the windows. He lifted his left arm to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Pain ripped through his bicep. He winced and put it back down. Less pain came from the right. As he opened his eyes he examined his surroundings. Opposite him, underneath the window sat a cot, that held _Patria_, propped up and reading _The Republic_. This was his heaven. He sighed heavily and a smile of content spread over his face.

Suddenly, _Patria_, rushed over and bent over him, her dark hair curtaining her face, deep blue eyes shining brightly. She looked strangely like Evelyn, which he was ok with. He tried to speak, but no sound came out.

...

That morning, Evelyn had her first bath in what felt like forever. Hot water washed over her, turning her fair skin pink. The wash maid insisted on scrubbing her down, met by much defiance from Evelyn. She washed her hair as well. Cosette came in and handed her an old navy-blue day dress. Evelyn refused it at first, but Cosette insisted. Evelyn decided she liked Cosette.

Evelyn was disturbed from her reading by motion from the other cot. Evelyn put down her book and rushed over to Enjolras, who was disoriented, but awake. "Joly!" she cried.

Enjolras thought it odd that _Patria_ called his friend. _Oh wait, we're all in heaven now. Les Amis de heaven. _He giggled lightly at his own joke.

Evelyn thought it odd that Enjolras was laughing. Maybe Joly had filled him with some really heavy medicine?

Joly came with Marius in tow. He rushed over to Enjolras and grabbed him by his shirt, getting a little too excited, "Enjolras! Enjolras can you hear me?" He couldn't wipe the smile off his face. Marius let out a little whoop of joy.

"We're in heaven Joly! Where's the other _Amis_?" Enjolras eventually slurred out.

Joly looked at Marius, both confirming the sad truth. Joly spoke, his face fallen, "We're not in heaven, Enjolras."

Enjolras just looked more confused, "Yes we are, I see _Patria_." He gestured over to Evelyn. Joly was too sad to laugh at that.

"No, Enjolras, that's Evelyn. Remember Evelyn?" Marius corrected. He was almost bent over from laughing. Joly glared at him. Marius stopped.

Enjolras slowly came to his senses. Reality hit him like a brick wall. He was in Marius's house. That was Evelyn, not _Patria_. His brothers were dead. A wail of grief escaped his lips. He rolled his face into the pillow.

Joly gestured for Marius and Evelyn to leave, but Evelyn refused. She felt responsible for Enjolras, and didn't really feel like spending quality time with Marius. Instead she returned to her cot and read _The Republic_.

...

It was hard for Evelyn to read when someone was sobbing a few feet away from her. It was particularly disturbing to hear it come from Enjolras, the fearless leader of _les_ _Amis. _Evelyn reminded herself that he didn't have anything to lead anymore.

Joly held Enjolras for what felt like hours when Marius came back in the room. He spoke to Joly, whispering, "Joly, I'm sorry, but now that they're awake you have to go now."

Joly nodded his head slowly and let go of Enjolras, who just rolled over on his side and let the silent tears flow down. He couldn't stop recounting his brothers's deaths in his mind.

...

Joly carried Evelyn out to the carriage again, much to her annoyance. "I can walk myself!" She told him. He just ignored her.

The carriage ride was silent. Joly tried to make conversation, but nobody was really in the mood. Enjolras stared out the window, blankly. His eyes had dulled to a watery gray. He was still dirty from two days ago; there was still blood clumped up in his hair, the curls limp and straggled out. His face still had traces of soot and dirt. Marius had lent him a fresh shirt and beige trousers.

Joly explained that they were going to his parents townhouse just outside Paris. His parents left for the summer months, so it would be empty.

They arrived about an hour later.

...

Evelyn was stunned by the bourgeois home. Rich fabrics or lacquered wood covered every surface. A small crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling of the foyer, sending sparkles across the dentil molding. A grand staircase led up to a second floor on the right.

Joly supported Enjolras up the stairs. Evelyn grabbed Enjolras's coat and book and followed them. Pain shot up her right leg with every step.

Joly directed her to the second room on the left and deposited Enjolras a little down the hall.

The room was beyond luxurious. Light pink wall paper decorated with pastel flowers lined the walls. White, silk curtains draped from the two windows, in between them rested a mahogany vanity with a padded stool, and a matching canopy bed held multitudes of fluffy pillows and bedsheets. Evelyn walked into the room and saw a mahogany armoire across from the bed, decorated with intricate carvings. Curiosity got the better of her, and she opened it up.

A few dresses, obviously belonging to a bourgeoise woman, hung in it. Joly came in and saw her touching the gowns. "Like what you see?" he asked with a warm smile. Evelyn nodded yes. She wanted so badly to try one on. "Well we'll get you fitted tomorrow," Joly said, starting to walk out the door.

"What? _Monsieur_, I cannot. I will not-" Evelyn protested.

"Ah ah ah, _mademoiselle_, I have already made the arrangements," Joly poked his head in the doorframe, "Supper is in thirty minutes. If you need anything, just pull the bell above your bed." Joly left. Evelyn felt guilty about having Joly buy her things, but a part of her filled with glee as she lived her child-hood dream. She left her room to find out where Enjolras was.

...

Joly knew he was probably coming across as flirty, but in reality he was just appreciative. Evelyn had saved one of his closest friends. Anyways, she deserved the bourgeoise lifestyle after being stuck in the slums. His heart belonged to Musichetta.

...

Evelyn heard his weeping through the shut door two doors down from her own. She almost knocked on it, but decided that Enjolras would probably want to be left alone.

She descended down the stairs into the study. Floor to ceiling bookshelves lined every wall. A fireplace nestled in the corner. Two leather chairs ended a coffee table with a silver tea-tray on top. Evelyn started at the bookshelf closest to her and read each title, running her finger along the spine. The dinner bell rang when she was half way through the room.

...

Enjolras waited for the dinner bell to ring before he left. He opened the window and lowered himself so that his feet were 7 or 8 feet above the ground. He felt his shoulder scream and the stitches in his arm rip, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything. He snuck around the house and onto to Rue St. Denis, heading for the Pont Notre Dame.


	10. Chapter 10

Enjolras dragged me over to Eponine. I hiccuped every few steps and stumbled along, giggling. Enjolras, naturally, was fuming.

"Here," he stated handing me over to the rather surprised gamine. I fell into 'Ponine's arms and leaned on her, laughing.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked under her breath, referring to me.

"She was... um... having fun with Grantaire," he stuttered out. I swear his ears grew a little pink, though I couldn't place why.

Eponine's eyes widened in shock, taking the euphemism for its naughtier connotation.

Enjolras quickly dispelled this notion. "No no no, I mean, they were drinking and causing a disturbance. It wasn't anything..."

"Unclean," Eponine supplied, knowing that the saintly Enjolras would have trouble with such implications. She tightened her grip around me, propping me up.

Enjolras nodded and walked away, his coat streaking plum on the spinning mess that was the cafe.

Eponine turned to me and sat me down on the floor. She looked concerned. "Listen, Evelyn, I'm not leaving Marius. We don't have much time left together, so I can't take you home," she rooted around our vicinity for a cup of water and handed me one when she found it, "Drink this and tuck yourself away. I know you're going to be alright. You've got your wits about you." She jokingly punched me on the shoulder, as we always did to each other. I just smiled, blissful. She grinned reassuringly and said "alright" and was gone, bounding off to her unrequited lover.

I was alone and drunk off my ass. I pretty much crawled down the steps, no doubt embarrassing myself. To be fair, I didn't think that I would make it too far into the near future.

I curled up into a little ball underneath the stairs, trying to ride the carousel from hell out. The cafe owner took one look at me, clucked her tongue, and continued drying glasses.

I squeezed my eyes shut and eventually fell asleep. I woke up a few hours (I think) later to someone stomping down the staircase. Most of the _Ami_'s had left by then, so the noise had severely decreased. I'm guessing only a few were left up there.

Anyways, said stomper heard my head/stomach ache induced moans and poked his head under the steps. It was Joly.

I squinted my eyes. The spinning had mostly stopped, and now I just felt nauseous. Like _really _nauseous. I just groaned when I saw him, because I'm sure my physical appearance was enough to make him think I was dead, and I wanted to reassure him that, in fact, I was not.

He slid his hand down the banister, creating a high-pitched squeaking noise that made me physically cringe. Joly stooped down next to me and put a forehead on my hand. I groaned in resistance.

"I feel sick..." I whined, clutching my stomach. Joly actually fell backwards with a horrified expression on his face. I would've laughed if I wasn't in so much pain. A smirk worked it's way onto my face. "Don't worry... It's not... Just too much to drink," I spit out. He accepted this and put his hand back on my forehead.

"You're right. There's no fever," he said, helping me up gently.

I smiled at the realization that I had fallen asleep under some stairs in a cafe with a bunch of students. _That's _ how much I trusted them. If I had done that back at the slums all kinds of nasty things would have happened to me.

I loved _Les Amis_, I truly did. Do, even. I miss them. I miss them more than I let on.

**A/N: so the idea is that she's looking back on her experiences from the time that the most recent ICTF chapter is in. So go read it and check it out!**


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